by Yari Stern
“Mom, I missed you. I’ve got so much to tell you.” His tears, burgeoning just beneath the semblance of a smile, were halted by her composure.
Irene set her work down methodically and clasped her son’s hand in both of hers. “Like the prodigal son in the Bible who wanders in the desert for years, you’ve returned. But we can speak later. Your father needs you now, as much as you once needed him.” Irene took Yari outside, where she directed his steps toward Sam. “He’s talking to the Amish baker down at the end of the mall. He was buying rolls for lunch but we’ll be lucky if he brings them back in time for dinner.
“He hasn’t been the same since you left. He tries to talk to strangers about the things you and he used to discuss, but they don’t understand.” Irene motioned a customer toward the drapes then turned back to Yari. “You’re the light in his life.” She urged him toward the end of the market. “Go to him, but don’t be shocked. He needs a cane most of the time now.”
Yari began walking in the direction indicated by his mother. He viewed a steady stream of eager customers strolling through the indoor mall. He passed bright, clean stores filled to the brim with fresh stock. Well-dressed, quiet-mannered individuals perused the merchandise. The sound of jingling cash registers tinkled like bells on Macys’ Christmas tree.
Yari could see his father as he approached the Amish bakery. His heartbeat rose with every step he took. Sam looked more serene since he hung up his badge and the diligence that went along with it.
Yari came upon him chatting away with the Amish baker. When Sam turned to see whom the baker was staring at so intently, he stumbled forward on his cane. An open mouth could emit no words, but a quivering jaw gave away his innermost feelings.
“Hi, Dad,” Yari said haltingly. It took a monumental effort for him to keep his voice calm and his emotions in check.
“How are you, son?” Sam attempted to remain on the same impassive wavelength.
Yari looked into his father’s eyes, a silent vow to never forget the love and strength that emanated from within the once powerful, but now only proud, man. “I was away so long. I’m sorry, Dad.”
“What’s a few years when we have forever.”
Yari saw in his father the depth of understanding and appreciation that came from a lifetime of devotion to others. But now the man who acted as a beacon for learned and dedicated souls to rally 'round, and who had been a symbol of unity in a continually fragmenting world, was becoming a dying ember.
Yari realized that few like Sam were left. If not he, who would be the one to carry on the legacy, to make a real difference? Who would carry on the legacy of a man who saw the good in people and believed in a better future for all.
“I’ve got one stop to make,” Yari said. “I’ll meet you at home for dinner. Don’t let Mom cook. I’ll bring some Chinese food.” He leaned over and kissed his father on the cheek, something he would never have even considered a few years before, and something his father would never have permitted.
Sam cradled Yari in return.
CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE
Drexel University. June, 1972
Yari sat next to Professor Grassley. They, in turn, faced the five members of the selection committee.
Sunlight seeped in through clearstory windows high up on the walls of the hallowed hall.
There was a solemnity over-shadowing the event. More like an inquisition than a selection procedure, Yari thought.
The chair of the committee cleared his throat and said, “This is a highly unusual request you have made, Ms. Grassley.”
“This is a highly unusual candidate, Professor Montgomery.”
“Highly unusual. Yes, I’d say that is an appropriate choice of words. Arrested three times: grand theft, conspiracy to sell military weapons, violation of the banking act, insurance fraud, possession of Class III drugs, breaking and entering, transportation of stolen property across state lines. Need I go on?” he asked rhetorically.
“Well, sir, he never killed anyone,” Grassley said in Yari’s defense.
“He’s young. Maybe he just didn’t have the time…being so busy with his other endeavors.”
“Professor, I do not think we need to rehash the past. Those facts have been in your possessions for several months now. We are here to determine if Yari’s experience and educational qualifications override those earlier mistakes.”
“Where they mistakes, professor? Or were they the well-thought out, methodical planning of a life-long criminal?”
“May I remind you, sir, that those activities took place while Yari was a young man and the courts have seen to expunge his record and give him a clean past so that he may have a new future.”
“We hold our associate professor positions to a higher standard than the courts who deal with criminals.”
“Yari’s past is part of the solution in this case, not part of the problem,” Grassley insisted.
“How so?” Montgomery asked.
“His life experience exceeds that of any one of us…and maybe all of us combined. We teach theory to students…men and women who go out into the world with book knowledge, not street experience. They are quickly faced with compromises to the ethics, circumstances they have no insight into. They are tempted by amounts of money that overwhelm those faced with student loan debt, mortgagees, and quite possibly family misfortune.”
“Many of us have faced similar circumstances and yet we sit here, having made the correct decisions,” Montgomery insisted.
“Yes, professor. But you are the exceptions, not the rule. What of the one hundred who caved in to temptation for every one of you who did not? We did not teach our charges all they needed to know before they went out into the world and face a harsher reality than they dealt with in the classroom.”
“And you feel Mr. Stern is our best representative of the harsh realities of the business world?”
“I do, sir. Who better than one who has faced situations that we have only read about. One who almost lost his life to wrong decisions? One who saw what could be won and lost in the battle of ethics, morality and legality.”
“And what do you have to say for yourself, Mr. Stern?” Montgomery asked.
“Most people are raised, live and work in a sterile environment. They are then sent out into a world far different than the classrooms, fraternity houses and coffee shops where they spoke of philosophical matters, history and the sciences. They arrive in their first job thousand dollars in debt. Some, recently married, saving for a home, a car payment, credit card bills, and all around them the signs of success in magazines, on billboards, on TV, and in the hands of co-workers, neighbors and celebrities.
“A boss or a customer comes to them with a proposition…look the other way and there’s a bonus for you. Sign this form and back-date it and you get a raise. Make a complaint against a co-worker and his jobs is yours. Buy the hot appliances or piece of furniture for half the price of new and don’t raise your credit card debt.
“Everyday there are going to be temptations, suggestions, desires that overwhelm the senses…or at least tempt the senses of a person not previously exposed to the downside of those situations.
“For many, the first mistake will be the last. A felony arrest means no bonded job, no government position, no management position. They go from white collar to blue collar…if they manage to bypass jail.
“One mistake, professor. That’s all it takes to negate a lifetime of learning, personal dedication and family sacrifice. Those aren’t good odds.”
“And you feel you can educate and ready those students better than one who has managed to steer clear of legal difficulties?”
“Steering clear is a good choice of words, professor. As in steering around the problem, not navigating through the problem. There’s a big difference. I almost died several times learning where to draw the line.”
“And might you, just as easily, be seen as some sort of hero to be emulated than an educator to be taken seriously?”
Professor Montgomery looked left and right to his colleagues. They all nodded.
“Very well, Mr. Stern. Thank you for your attendance here today, Mr. Stern,” Professor Montgomery said. We have heard enough. We will debate your situation and let you know our decision by this time tomorrow.”
* * *
“What do you think?” Yari asked Professor Grassley.
“It’s hard to get in the heads of people who have spent their lives in the halls of academia. Life’s experience is treated too lightly in college. Those lessons should be elevated to a higher level of importance,”
“But can I bring in that value of those experiences, without the cynicism?” Yari asked.
“But there is cynicism – in government, in business. It’s part of our society. It’s real, palpable. It needs to be addressed, not swept under the carpet and ignored.”
“And you really think I’m the man to address that?”
“I don’t know anyone more qualified.”
CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX
Hanehmann Hospital. Philly Sept. 3, 1972
Yari touched the doctor’s shoulder as the white-haired surgeon hung the examination sheet back on a wooden dowel poking out of the corridor wall.
The thin metal clipboard rattled to a halt, as if to indicate, “This one’s still alive.” The practitioner, leading his interns on their rounds, had just emerged from Sylvan’s room.
“How’s he doin’, Doc?” Yari inquired.
“He needs a by-pass operation but he refuses to give his consent. I don’t know what’s keeping him going. It seems as though he’s just waiting for someone to come along and tell him it’s all right to die. We’re doing what we can with medication but…are you family?”
“I’m as close as he’s got.”
The physician accepted Yari’s position and dropped his defense posture. “He won’t make it without immediate surgery. See if you can talk some sense into him.” The cardiologist and his students moved sedately down the hall to finish the rest of their visitations.
Yari walked into the room and stood by Sylvan’s bedside for some time, resisting the temptation to wake him. Moments later, Sylvan squinted up in a painful effort. Tubes in his nose and catheters in his arms kept him weighted down.
As soon as he made eye contact with Yari, Sylvan acknowledged, “What’s hot?” He then choked out a laugh before continuing, “Not like the old days at the Haddonfield Diner.”
Yari’s expression showed Sylvan that whatever had transpired between them in the past was made trivial by time. “How are you, Sylvan?”
“Not great. The last few years have been tough. You got out just in time. They set up a special squad to track us. They used the IRS, wiretaps, and informants we never thought would roll over. It was downhill after that. I did four years for conspiracy and tax evasion. But let me hear what you’re workin’ on.” Sylvan’s strongest medicine was the adrenaline generated by a new deal. “I’ll be outta here soon.”
“First, tell me, how’s Ed?”
“What a piece of work that guy was.”
“Was?”
Sylvan rasped, his breathing labored. “Ed died of a heart attack in prison last year.”
“I’m sorry to--”
“It was those goddamn corned beef specials from Murray’s Delicatessen that finally caught up with him. They did what the FBI couldn’t. But let me tell you the story. He was up before a federal judge, his third felony, facing life. Just before sentencing, the judge asks him, ‘Tell me, Mr. Dein, what would you do if you had it to do all over again?’
“‘I would do the same things, just be more careful,’ he says. “Ain’t that something?”
“He was definitely one of the last of the breed,” Yari acknowledged.
“Yeah. Can you imagine? Hounded by police, two stretches in prison, running, hiding, changing identities, yet the guy would do it all again. No one outside our circle could ever understand that.”
“Maybe they could, Sylvan. For some, like Socrates and Plato, liberty has always been more important than death or prison.”
Sylvan, gathering purpose, nodded in agreement, then continued, “Yeah, well in retaliation, the judge says to him, ‘Mr. Dein, if there were four more of you, this country would be broke.’
“‘Thank you, your honor,’ he replies, thinking the guy was throwing him a compliment.” Sylvan gurgled up a laugh. “They sentenced him to Allenwood Federal Penitentiary: easy time, but he knew he’d be an old man when he got out, so he just gave up.” Sylvan struggled to regain his wind. “You know I couldn’t have stopped Jack.”
“I know,” Yari quickly answered, feeling the need to continue more quickly.
“He’s in maximum security; they’ll never let him out.” Sylvan went into a coughing spell and pointed for Yari to take over the conversation.
“Why don’t you let them operate on you, Sylvan? The doctor says you could be out of here in a few weeks, good as new.”
“I can’t.” Sylvan motioned for Yari to lean in closer. “Do you know what they’ll find if they open me up?”
Yari shook his head.
“Nothing. Not a fuckin’ thing. If I had a heart do you think I could have done those things to people all my life? When they find out I haven’t got one, they won’t even bury me. They’ll burn me alive like a vampire.”
“But you can--”
“Fuck that. I was tellin’ you about Herman.”
“You were? Oh, yeah,” Yari acquiesced. “How’s he doing?”
“Not too good. He’s dead. The schmuck was staying in a fleabag apartment living off of SSI. They provided his medical and basic living expenses. All he had to do was eat right and take his medicine. Instead, he sells his food stamps so he could have more money to bet with. He went into diabetic shock while sitting at a card game. They never even called an ambulance; his buddies took his watch and jewelry and set him out in the alley to finish dying. Now run by me the new scam you’re workin’ out.”
“There are no more scams, Sylvan. Those times are past. The system caught up to us a long time ago. They’ve got ways of figuring out what you’re going to do even before you’ve finished planning it.”
“Yeah, I knew it years ago, when I saw they were willing to spend a thousand dollars to stop me from stealing one, and a million to bust me for takin’ ten.”
“Then why didn’t you get out?”
“Because a leopard can’t change its spots.”
“You’re wrong, Sylvan. Remember what you said in the diner when we first met?”
“No.” It was a hopeless “no” from a man who once prided himself on a keen memory.
“You said past and destiny were one in the same. But that’s not true. You can alter that course, but to do it you have to change your environment, the people you deal with, the work you do, the neighborhood you rely on for support.”
“What’s the catch? When do you sting ‘em?”
“There is no catch, Sylvan. Whatever you give is returned to you a thousand fold.”
“Ya gotta be putting me on.”
Through much of their conversation, Sylvan kept his gaze down in an effort to conserve strength, but now his eyes strained upward. “So all I’ve got to do is get a straight job and pat a few kids on the head?”
Yari smiled and took a seat at Sylvan’s side so that the man would not have to expend his limited energy. “No, there’s more to it than that.”
Dialogue waned for a moment. For Sylvan, words were slow to form, his eyes averted. Then he looked up and said reflectively, “So why’d ya come back? There’s nothing here but losers and lousy weather.”
“I promised my dad that I’d try to right some wrongs, a few of which I helped create, to tea
ch what I learned, and to learn what I could from others.”
“Who back here knows anything worthwhile?”
“You. I used to think you were crazy, but a lot of what you said has come to pass.”
“Like what?”
“About how people fail as human beings when they’re forced to rely on an impersonal government instead of themselves; about how we can’t make it if the system keeps us apart by the enactment of endless regulations; about how political egos pass laws to further their own power, laws which force individuals to focus on details and dollars instead of each other.”
Yari adjusted Sylvan’s pillow, then went on, “Now everyone’s sitting out there, like helpless children, waiting for Big Brother to tell them what to do.”
“So I wasn’t so dumb after all?”
“No, Sylvan.” The gentleness in Yari’s voice seemed to calm the big man.
“It seems like you put it all together. The pieces were always there. I wonder why I never saw it?” Sylvan halted, exhausted by the outpouring of thought and emotion.
In the moments spent regaining his strength, he gazed spellbound, looking through Yari, as if trying to focus on something not tangible, not yet formed. And then, after a time he exclaimed, “I see them now!”
“See who, Sylvan?”
“The people I destroyed.” Sylvan’s eyes opened abnormally wide, staring at what Yari saw as only a blank wall.
“Where?”
“They’re right there,” he said with absolute certainty. Then, fighting for breath, he continued, “All the ones I ruined,” Sylvan declared, as he struggled to sit up.
Yari observed his friend closely, trying to discern whether he was passing into that other world or was suspended between the two.
“Look!” Sylvan pointed a single, all-knowing finger at the stark wall. “They’re joining together, changing into something else, something more.”
“It’s a dream, Sylvan…a hallucination.”
“No! It’s real.” He remained rigid, frozen in place for a moment, then laid back. His expression and demeanor quieted. “I think it’s Virgil.”
